


Crocodile Teeth

by misato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 13:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misato/pseuds/misato
Summary: “Do you know the difference between crocodiles and alligators?” Draco asked.This was a Dumbledore-esque metaphor, and Harry was too drunk to solve the riddle.“No,” Harry answered, confused.“You can always see a crocodile smiling. The alligator’s teeth are hidden.”“What’s that supposed to mean?”





	Crocodile Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> my characters now, rowling who?

It was a December afternoon and Harry Potter was falling asleep at his desk for the fourth time that week. Becoming an Auror involved just as much (if not more) paperwork as it did field work, and the heat from the fireplaces made Harry’s brain hazy, and really, he hadn’t been sleeping much at home in the first place. 

But being the Boy Who Lived didn’t get you very far when you had grown up into a Man Who Existed and there wasn’t anything or anyone around that wanted him Dead in the first place. All of the Aurors in his section of the office (and the neighboring section, for that matter) were sick of his snoring, regardless of the Chosen scar on his forehead that was quickly fading anyways.

Harry did (mostly) finish his paperwork on time, but he constantly woke up with ink smeared over one side of his face, and the once he had muttered just the right spell to make all the lights in the building go out at once.

So when Harry Potter woke up a little later than expected, it wasn’t really surprising that no one had bothered to wake him up before heading home.

The sky was dark. Harry gathered his things and headed to the lift, which seemed a little creaky for something so magical, but he pressed the button anyway and stepped inside.

“Wait! Hold the door, please!” said a voice from just around the corner that instinctively made Harry want to do the opposite.

The building had several floors (this being the top one) and only one lift, so it would take the owner of the voice a significant amount of time to reach the ground floor if Harry didn’t hold the door for him. So he politely stuck his foot out and pushed the button with opposing arrows and waited. 

The man hurried into the lift. He looked like he had spent a good bit of his life  _ not  _ hurrying, and had only just begun to start. He was wearing a hat and long robes that might have been expensive once, and he was scrawny and tall, like Ron, but unlike Ron, he carried himself with a bit more loftiness. It wasn’t confidence, but rather, arrogance, but most people were favoring the latter nowadays anyway. Harry suspected nothing -- he was  _ very  _ tired, after all, you couldn’t blame him -- so he let go of the button and the doors slid shut. The man pressed the button for the ground floor, took off his hat, and turned around. 

“You’re headed to the ground floor as well, Potter?” he asked innocently.

His hair was a shade of white-blonde that sent a jolt through Harry’s stomach, and the tone with which he said his last name was all too familiar.

Suddenly he wished that he hadn’t held the door.

“Potter?”

His name didn’t sound as menacing as Harry had first thought, but he was still bleary with sleep and was hoping this was all a dream.  _ You’re still in love with him,  _ a voice in his head insisted snidely, and Harry ignored it.

“Huh?” he said. Draco had said something, he thought. “Yes. I’m headed down.”

“I should hope so,” Draco Malfoy said. “We’re at the top floor.”

“Ah,” Harry said. “Yes. The ground floor, then. I’m going home.”

Suddenly the lift made that creaking noise again, and shuddered to a halt.

“There it goes again,” Draco sighed. “This happened a few nights ago. The charms sometimes wear off in the evenings.”

“What?” Harry said, a little too angrily, but then again, it  _ was  _ Malfoy. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It doesn’t always happen,” Draco said in a voice that attempted to be consoling. “And it’ll be moving again in an hour or two, I’m sure of it.” 

“An  _ hour  _ or two?” Harry spluttered. “We can’t Apparate out?”

“Not in here,” Draco said calmly, as if that was obvious. “Too many people Splinched through the walls, so they put up some safety nets. We’ll have to wait it out.”

“What’re you doing here anyway?” Harry asked suspiciously. “I didn’t know you worked in this building.”

“Cleaning,” Draco said.

“Ah, Magical Object Restoration, then?” Harry said conversationally.

“No,” Draco said with a hint of his usual disdain. “I’m the janitor.”

“Oh,” Harry said in a small voice. “I’ve never seen you ‘round here, that’s all.”

“You’ve never noticed, at least,” Draco said. “I’ve seen you. Asleep.”

“Well, you see--”

“There’s ink on your nose, Potter,” Draco said stiffly, and sunk to the floor.

Harry rubbed at it in vain and sat down next to him.

“I’m aware you haven’t seen much of me,” Draco said. “I  _ have  _ been hiding.”

“Hiding?”

“I assume you are familiar with the concept.”

Harry smiled at the thought of Draco in an Invisibility Cloak, sneaking around the office, but he’s certain that’s not what the man meant.

“Yes,” Harry said. “But why?”

“I thought you’d laugh,” Draco said, very plainly. “A Malfoy cleaning up after someone is laughable, is it not?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said. “Surprising, maybe, but I wouldn’t have made fun of you.”

“I deserve it, don’t I? After all, I--” Draco spat, and then a look of regret washed over his face. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“It’s alright,” Harry said, even if it wasn’t. “But you don’t deserve it, Draco. You’re talented. You could be a Healer, you know.”

“I can’t. No one would hire me.”

“Have you tried?”

“ _ Obviously _ ,” Draco said. “My father was a horrid man. One of the men you were protecting the world from. People remember.”

“But you weren’t like him,” Harry said truthfully.

“Have you forgotten everything?” Draco said, in a matter-of-fact way that reminded Harry more of an exasperated professor repeating a lesson than someone grieving their regretful actions. “Have you forgotten what he made me do?”

Harry wasn’t sure if he meant Lucius or Voldemort, but he didn’t ask for fear of upsetting Draco further.

“I could get you a job,” he said carefully.

“Don’t,” Draco said quickly. “I don’t want handouts. I’m happy with the work I do.”

“But--”

“It’s fine,” His words came out harshly, like sparks against steel.

The two of them remained quiet after that.

Harry stared at the mirror on the ceiling. The top of Draco’s head was thinning. They weren’t getting any younger. Harry had already been divorced. He wasn’t sure about Draco, but he wasn’t going to ask.

The floor suddenly shifted beneath them and the lift began moving down again. Draco stood and offered a hand to Harry. He took it and hoisted himself off of the floor. Draco’s hands were surprisingly rough and warm. The doors slid open.

“Buy you a drink sometime?” Harry offered, and Draco shrugged.

“Why not?” he said. “But get some sleep, Potter. Really, you look exhausted.”

Harry went home and did just that.

***

“Draco,” Harry murmured to his pillow, nuzzling into it. “C’mere, love.”

Then he realized he was dreaming, because Draco would never allow Harry to call him that, not without at least a few dinner dates under their belts. 

Harry sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes. It had been a very nice dream. Light was streaming through the curtains and Pillow-Draco was still tangled among his extremities. Harry pushed him off of the bed, just like he would with the real Malfoy, or so he hoped.

Then he grabbed his wand from the nightstand and flicked it to check the time, then sighed again. He was doing a lot of that lately.

It was nearing noon on a Saturday, which meant he wasn’t late for work, but it did mean he was missing brunch with the Weasleys.

Harry showered, shaved, got dressed in clean robes, and checked his fireplace for any voicemails (there was one from Hermione, asking where he was, and three from Ron, asking where he was in a much louder voice). Harry Floo-called Ron back and talked politely with the Weasleys for a few minutes. Ginny was there with her new girlfriend, and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so he knocked inconspicuously on the hearth and made an excuse about someone being at the door. Then he pulled his head out of the fire.

Instantly there was a real knock at the real door, and Harry hurried to answer it.

When he opened the door, Draco Malfoy’s proud eagle owl was flapping about the veranda with a small silver letter canister affixed to her leg. He reached for the letter, but she wriggled from his grasp and flew straight into his house. Harry chased her through the living room, in and out of the bathroom, and finally cornered her by his bedroom window. The owl perched on the windowsill with a snide expression and offered her leg. Harry uncapped the container and pulled out a scroll.

_ ‘A drink would be nice. Sorry about the lift last night. I’ll buy.  _

_ \-- Draco Malfoy’ _

On the back he had neatly written an address and time. Harry recognized the place; it was a Muggle bar that he frequented whenever he wasn’t in the mood for showing off his scar at the Leaky and signing cocktail napkins for drunken admirers. 

The owl stared at him with disdain, clicking her talons against the sill, and Harry realized that he ought to respond. She hooted insistently.

“Be patient,” Harry said.

Then he wrote up a polite response, agreeing to meet for a drink, and insisting that  _ he  _ would be the one to pay. The owl accepted this note gladly, and Harry would have given her a treat if he still kept an owl of his own -- he still missed Hedwig too much to replace her. He settled for a head pat, and then she was off.

***

“Been keeping up with Quidditch lately?” Harry said after they had ordered their first round of drinks, and Draco stared.

“Honestly, Potter, if you hadn’t just ordered a drink with an umbrella in it, I’d think you were straight as a wand.”

“I’m making conversation.”

“Only joking, Potter. The look on your face is adorable.” 

Draco sipped at his whiskey; his smirk fit neatly around the rim of the glass. 

“And the answer is no,” he continued. “I haven’t kept up. I always loved playing it more than rooting for teams.”

“So did I. I miss it,” Harry admitted, and took a sip of the fruity, obnoxious drink that was set in front of him. 

Draco was right; the umbrella may have been a bit much. Harry plucked it out of the drink and twirled it between his fingers.

“If you really are buying...” Draco said, tilting his head and looking at Harry. “I intend to get plastered.”

Then they proceeded to do just that.

They drunker the got, the more they talked. Draco showed him how to tie a cherry stem with his tongue (no magic necessary) and their barstools slowly inched closer and closer together until they were mere hairbreadths apart.

“Harry,” Draco said, and the word dropped in Harry’s stomach like an anchor.

His voice was heavy and dark when he said his name, so different from the nasal, stuck-up sound of  _ ‘Potter’  _ that had haunted him through school. The sound of his name had never been so rich, so decadent.  _ ‘Harry,’  _ he had said. 

Draco was close enough that Harry could smell his cologne. His eyelashes were deathly pale, contrasting with the dark, sleepless shadows that hung beneath his eyes. Harry wanted to brush his thumb over them, as if that would heal the pain, as if that would melt his nightmares into calming dreams.

“Do you know the difference between crocodiles and alligators?” Draco asked.

This was a Dumbledore-esque metaphor, and Harry was too drunk to solve the riddle.

“No,” Harry answered, confused.

“You can always see a crocodile smiling. The alligator’s teeth are hidden.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Thick as always. I’ll spell it out for you, then. You’re the crocodile. Always shouting about good and evil, wearing your heart on your sleeve,” Draco deliberated over his glass and took a measured sip.

He searched briefly for a paper napkin so that he could dab at his mouth, but there were none left in the dispenser. His lips stayed pouty and wet with liquor. 

Harry was mesmerized. Then he spoke, tired of waiting for Draco to continue with his explanation:

“And what, that makes you the alligator? Bottling up your emotions until you bite someone’s head off?”

Draco didn’t answer immediately. 

He stared intently at the amber liquid that pooled in the bottom of his glass. Then he flicked his gaze back up and slowly finished the drink, staring at Harry over the rim. The glass hit the counter for the last time and, cat-like, he licked his lips. Harry bitterly imagined how that mouth would taste against his -- the sharpness of whiskey on his tongue, the sweetness of satisfaction, the warmth of a fairytale ending that really, truly feels like one. 

Draco took one look at the expression on his face and laughed lightly. 

“Precisely, Harry. I am the alligator. And you are in love.”

“Draco, I--”

“Tell me I’m wrong. I’m wrong very often, but not about this.”

“You’re right,” Harry said resignedly. 

“The way you look at me,” Draco said, spitting the words out as if they tasted of wormwood. “I could never look at myself that way.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’ll see you when I want to be seen,” Draco said shortly.

He took out a few slips of Muggle money from his pocket, placed them on the counter, stood, his legs wobbly, and left without another word. He had left more than the cost of their drinks.

By the time Harry had gathered enough of his wits to go after him, he heard the sharp crack of an Apparation from outside. It was a dark and brisk night, and the wind whipped through his hair as he glanced left and right through the alleyway. He was gone. 

***

Harry lasted two treacherous weeks of brooding and a few more naps at his desk until Draco finally appeared again.

It was another December evening and Draco was taking the lift to the ground floor. It was snowing heavily outside and he was in a hurry to get home. The weather was awful, and that morning he had been up to his boots in slush. The cuffs of his trousers were still damp.

“Wait a moment, please,” Harry said, and a look of fear flashed over Malfoy’s face. “Draco, please don’t let the door close.”

Draco held it open.

“Thank you,” Harry said breathlessly, and pressed the button as the doors slid shut before the two of them.

“That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever thanked me for anything.”

“I’m sure I have.”

“I’m sure you haven’t.” Draco said with finality. “I would’ve remembered. You’re a selfless person, despite what they say in the papers. I was always so enamoured with how ridiculously kind you were. Stupidly kind. I always wanted that kindness for myself.”

He got a look of regret in his eyes, like he had said too much.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t kinder to you,” Harry said.

“Don’t be. I was a prick.”

The lift jerked and twitched again, and stopped in place.

“Bloody hell,” Draco snapped at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. It’s my bad luck.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry said. “I like being with you, so I don’t mind.”

“Crocodile teeth,” Draco snorted. 

“What?”

“Just  _ kiss me _ ,” he said. 

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” Draco said, putting his head in his hands in exasperation. “Yes, you thick-headed Gryffindor, yes, yes, I want you to.”

Harry leaned in close. He cupped the other man’s face with both hands, then frowned.

“This isn’t how I imagined it,” he said. “It always had more anger, more heat, more sparks.”

“I used to think about that too. But we’re in our thirties, Harry. I’ve mellowed.” Draco smiled. “I don’t hate you, and I don’t intend on pretending I do. I want your kindness.”

“Then take it,” Harry breathed, and Draco wetted his lips and captured Harry’s mouth for his own.

There were sparks -- warm sparks, sweet sparks, heart-shaped sparks, sparks that fizzled in every one of his brain cells, sparks knotted like cherry stems, sparks that sounded like his first name. None of them had an ounce of hatred.

Suddenly the lift started moving again, jarring them apart.

Harry flushed and adjusted his glasses. They were fogging up.

Draco stepped out of the lift, one hand sliding into Harry’s.

“I’ll see you ‘round, then?” he said as they headed out of the building.

Draco shot him a look.

“Only joking, Malfoy,” he said. “You’re welcome to come back to mine.”

“You didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Draco teased.

They Apparated together with hands intertwined, their bodies fading into the blackness of the night.

***

“Wake up, love,” Draco said, and Harry murmured something unintelligible and shoved him off of the bed.

“Morning,” Harry yawned, only to find a disgruntled Malfoy sitting cross-legged on the carpet. “I thought you were a pillow.”

“Of course,” Draco said flatly. “That explains it.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading :))


End file.
